seem slowly and fondly to pass over it, and the little summer birds sing more cheerily amid its holy solitude. Since I have seen it, I have not been conscious of feeling any emotion allied to evil. Indeed, what could make the heart evil-disposed among such general peace and happiness? No mind can withstand the influence of fair and lovely scenery, and the calmness of a fine summer-evening, when there is nothing to prevent its sinking into the very furthest recesses of the heart. For myself, at least, I can say that I never walked with my face towards a fine setting sun, without feeling it to be, as our own most majestic poet has expressed it, a heavenly destiny.' Nothing tends so powerfully to extinguish all bad passions as the contemplation of the still majesty of nature."

We started, gentle reader, for the day, with gazing on "that little pearle of pulchritude," the primrose; and now the sun is verging towards the west," with all his gay apparelling of clouds," we will bend our sober steps homewards.

Tell me, do you not feel happier since you left town in the morning? Do you not breathe more freely, and feel more cheerful, and "wear more of that herb called hearts-ease in your bosom?"

Do you not return with gentler and kindlier dispositions towards your fellow-creatures, and with an inclination to look on the favorable aspect of things? These relaxations are green sunny resting-places in the journey of life," glimpses that make us less forlorn.-" But perhaps it may be the long looking forward, during the busy anxious intervals between refreshing walks, that imparts exquisite delight to these holidays. Let us, however, have as many of these as we can.

Let us

cherish the social and benevolent affections, and be lovers of nature, and of one another; for

"Nature never did betray The heart that loved her: 'tis her privilege Through all the years of this our life to lead From joy to joy; for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Shall e'er prevail against us; or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.-"

Let us, then, go abroad in the early year, and allow "spring's first voluptuous paintings, when she breathes her first sweet kisses," to "tremble o'er our frames."

In the goodly summer season, let us have our quiet musings, as we stroll through the luxuriant meadow,

Or by the osiers of a rivulet, Fall ankle deep in lilies of the vale, or pursue the chequered woodland pathway,

Winding through palmy fern and rushes fenny,
And ivy banks; leading full pleasantly
To a wide lawn, whence one can only see
Stems thronging all around, between the swel
Of turf and slanting branches; who can tell
The freshness of the space of heaven above,
Edg'd round with dark tree tops? through
which a dove

Doth often beat its wings, and often too
A little cloud doth move across the blue.

Let us have: our morning walks on the breezy upland,—

Where sweet air stirs Blue hare-bells lightly, and where prickly furze Buds lavish gold, and greet the sun, Up-beaming from the valleys of the east. And, when "the crimson pall of eve doth fall" upon the landscape below us, let us watch its every feature as it becomes

Bathed all over with a streaming flood Of level light, as heaven's majestic orb Slow sinks behind the far-off western hills. On those sultry days again,

When not the limberest leaf is seen to move, Save where the linnet lights upon the spray; When not a flowcret bends its little stalk, Save where the bee alights upon the bloom. Let us seek "some fair lone beechen tree," and under "its cirque of shedded leaves," reclining on "daisies vermeilrimmed and white, hid in deep herbage," peruse a favorite author,

for books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good, Round which, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,

Our pastime and our happiness may grow.

when we listen to "the sound of hollow sighs in the serewood," and look upon

those bright leaves, whose decay,

Red, Yellow, or etherially pale,
Rivals the pride of summer;

Or when, in the evenings,

"The breath of winter comes from far away,
And the sick west continually bereaves
Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay
Of death, among the bushes and the leaves,
Making all bare before he dares to stray
From his north cavern ;

let us

With many feelings, many thoughts, Make up a meditative joy, and find Religious meanings in the forms of Nature. And, last of all, "when the chill rain begins at shut of eve, in dull November;" and "winter comes to rule the varied year;" let us have our social comforts, and pleasant chat at the blazing hearth, and listen, with an inward consciousness of security, to the howling storms without,

Which at the doors and windows seem to call,

As heaven and earth they would together mall; Yet the least entrance find they none at all; Whence sweeter grows our rest secure in massy

hall.

our

Let us have our healthful, bracing walks, during the cold, frosty weather; bappy christmas merriments; and our pleasant new year's day parties:

He who of these delights can judge, and spare

To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

In short, let us be cheerful, and, temperate, and kind, and honest; and, when the snows of age descend upon our heads, and we begin to approach towards "that dividing streak between our visible horizon and that more clear and unstained hemisphere on which the sun of human existence rises, where it dips behind the remotest hills of earthly vision," may we hope for that easy separation, that gentle dissolution, so finely alluded to by Dryden, in the following lines:

And now, kind reader, I have one request before we part; forget not our worthy chronicler, friend Hone, who has gathered for us, into his charming pages,

66

so many a seasonable fact, and pleasant story." Send him a local custom, a rural or city meditation, an extract, nay even a reference or a suggestion. I prithee bestir thyself in this matter, and spend an hour now and then in the right pleasant and friendly occupation of communicating thy portion of amusement to the pages of the Year Book. But methinks I hear thee say, I would send this, but I am sure friend Hone knows about it already.""Out upon such half-faced fellowship!" Contribute cheerfully what thou hast, and allow not such dallying suppositions to form any ground of excuse. We have each of us our own peculiar recollections, our favorite authors, our curious facts, our choice passages; let us, then, lighten his labor, and contribute to the variety of his columns, "by joining and uniting in one general and brotherly resolution" to send whatever we think suitable and appropriate, and worthyof being recorded; for, to conclude, in the words of Milton, "neither can every building be of one form; nay, rather, the perfection consists in this, that out of many moderate varieties, and brotherly dissimilitudes, not vastly disproportional, arises the goodly and the graceful symmetry that commends the whole pile and structure."

And, lastly, gentle reader, you and I have jogged on very pleasantly together, glancing, in our way, at many of the happy things, "the joys and the delights of human life," and, since we must part, let us remember that

Edinburgh, March, 1831.

A. W.

ALIMENTARY CALENDAR.

The festival of Easter, which usually falls towards the commencement of April, is the epoch at which grass-lamb and turbot are in particular demand. Greengeese and turkey-poults also come into notice. Pork disappears from all polite tables, but roasting pigs are in request.

Holibut, in this and the two following months, is in perfect condition; it comes in as an acceptable variety at the close of Lent, along with carp, tench, and perch, which continue in season until the end of June.

But the novelty which most distinguishes April is that royal fish, the sturgeon, whose value has recently been enhanced by the discovery of a mode of dressing which places him almost on a par with turtle in richness of flavor. His flesh partakes much of the nature of veal, and admits of being roasted as such. The weight of sturgeon varies from 50lbs. to 400lbs. Young ones from 3s. 6d. to 5s. per. lb.-a price of no account in the estimation of a man with money, and " a palate."

Mackarel is in season during April, May, and June. The first supply is taken off Brighton, and brought to London in vans, light vehicles upon springs, drawn by four horses, at the same rate as the stage coaches. The fish are packed in wicker baskets called pots. The mackarel brought in boats are generally caught off Margate, and in such quantities, that shortly after the commencement of the season the market is glutted with them, and they fall rapidly in price. At Torbay, in Devonshire, they are caught in immense numbers, and are often sold two or three for a penny; sometimes the glut is so great that they are thrown on the land as

manure.

Mullet is in season during this and the following month only. Brighton soles are in request, and brought by the same rapid conveyance which is used for early mackarel. In warm weather the precaution is taken of gutting them.

Herrings are in abundance, and in full roe, on which account they are not so much esteemed, by epicures, as at their second appearance, late in the autumn, when they have spawned.

Ham is much in season at this time. It is the almost inseparable escort of most kinds of white meat, the prevailing ingredient in sandwiches, and the most convenient article of occasional refreshment.

The most highly esteemed hams are from Bayonne and Westphalia, but our own, from Yorkshire, well cured, are scarcely inferior in goodness and flavor.

This is the last month in which any wild-fowl, except wild pigeons, are ad

missible on tables of taste.

VEGETABLE GARDEN DIRECTORY.
(MARCH.")
Sow

Beans; the long-pod, toker, Sandwich, and Windsor, once or twice during the month.

Peas; Prussians, dwarf imperials, once or twice.

Lettuce; the hardy sorts. Radish; the salmon, short-top, and the red and white turnip: the two former in the first or second week; the two latter in the third or fourth.

Small sallad; every fortnight.

Spinach, or spinage; in the second week for early crops.

Parsley; the curled-leaved, in the second or third week.

Asparagus; the seeds either in beds to remain, or to be transplanted.

Purslane, chervil, coriander, basil, dill, fennel, and any other sweet herbs ;-also nasturtium ;-all about the third week.

Beet-root, carrot, parsnip; in the third or fourth week for the main crops.

Cabbage; the red, Savoy, Brussels sprouts, Borecole, about the fourth week, if done at all this month;-also,

Turnips; the early stone, Dutch, and Swedish, or rutabaga; and

Onions; the white Spanish, in drills, for a full crop.

Sea-kale; either in beds to remain, or to be transplanted.

NATIONAL RENOVATION.

As in a body, when the blood is fresh, the spirits pure and vigorous, not only to vital but to rational faculties, and those in the pertest operations of wit and subtilty, it argues in what good plight and constitution the body is; so when the cheerfulness of the people is so sprightly up as that it has not only wherewith, to guard well its own freedom and safety, but to spare and to bestow upon the solidest and sublimest points of controversy and new inventions, it betokens us not degenerated, nor drooping to a fatal decay; but casting off the old and wrinkled skin of corruption, to outlive these pangs, and wax young again, entering the glorious ways of truth and prosperous virtue, destined to become great and honorable in these latter ages-methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation, rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks : methinks I see her like an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam : purging and unscaling her long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise of timorous and flocking birds, with those also that love the twilight, flutter about, amazed at what she means, and in their envious gabble would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms. Milton.

April 1.

APRIL FOOL DAY. Scarcely any thing can be added to the numerous particulars in the Every-Day Book concerning the customs of to-day. The most popular usage that remains is referred to by the "Spectator," while telling of the Jack Puddings of England, who made merriment by appearing in a fool's coat, and committing blunders :"But this little triumph of the understanding, under the disguise of laughter, is no where more visible than in that custom

which prevails every where among us on the first day of the present month, when every body takes it in his head to make as many fools as he can. In proportion as there are more follies discovered so there is more laughter raised on this day than on any other in the whole year. A neighbour of mine, who is a haberdasher by trade, and a very shallow conceited fellow, makes his boasts that for these ten years successively he has not made less than a hundred fools. My landlady had a falling out with him about a fortnight ago, for sending every one of her children upon some sleeveless errand, as she terms it. Her eldest son went to buy a half-penny worth of incle at a shoemaker's; the eldest daughter was despatched half a mile to see a monster; and, in short, the whole family of innocent children made April fools. Nay, my landlady herself did not escape him."

In some parts of North America the First of April is observed like St. Valentine's day, with this difference, that the boys are allowed to chastise the girls, if they think fit, either with words or blows. The practice is referred to in the following verses by a native, extracted from an American Journal.

APRIL DAY.

This day to common love is dear,

And many a tale will sooth thine car,
Fond hope or frolic wit to prove ;
The theme of minstrelsy I change,
I bring a tribute new and strange,
A tale of hatred, not of love.

I love thee not !-did ever zeal
A rarer miracle reveal,

Thy pity or thy mirth to move?
'Tis true;-for all thy faults I guess,
And strive to make thy beauties less-

What more is hate, if this be love? Thy wit is false; for, when my cheek Fades with the fear that cannot speak,

My pangs thy sparkling jest improve; And, while I tremble, how much guile Lurks in thy lip and points thy smile

The smile which stings, yet wakens love! Thine eye--a scorching fire is there; For, though I chide, I never dare

The keenness of its flash to prove. Thy voice has won the Elf-Harp's soundI hear it, and my tongue is bound, Or wanders into words of love. Behold thy faults !-yet keep them all, That I my senses may recall,

When spell-bound in thy sphere they rove: My malice as thy pride is greatThere is no language fits my hate,

Unless it tells thee-that I love!